Broken Seams
by iBetYouKnowWho
Summary: AU. At the end of "A House Divided", Michaela leaves on the train with Daniel to start a new life. The town struggles to keep itself together in her absence, and her family slowly starts to fall apart as everyone contemplates life... and death. Pretty much a short story split up into a few parts taking place during different gaps in time. *Don't like, don't read.*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: [PLEASE READ] Okay, so, I've been thinking of this idea ever since I saw _A House Divided_. I understand that there are many, MANY Michaela/Sully fans out there, but I personally prefer Daniel (note that I formed this opinion before watching Season Six). So I'm going to give this idea a shot, and see how far this goes. Michaela is a bit OOC (out of character, for those who don't know) at the end of this chapter, since in the beginning I was using the script and then changed the ending. I know these first few chapters really aren't anything to be proud of (in the future, I'm hoping to rewrite them), but for now all I ask is that you give it some time.**

_**Also, this is going to focus more on the actual effects of what Michaela and Daniel did, rather than their relationship itself, so they're going to go incognito (after this chapter) until Part Three.**_

**So, without further adieu...**

* * *

PART ONE

_Chapter One_

* * *

Rain.

It was all the woman could see as she tried to make her way through the town. She adjusted her hat in a desperate attempt to clear her vision from the torrential downpour above her, but had little success.

The water slid down the roofs of the nearby houses and flooded the streets. The woman's horse sloshed through puddle after puddle until the two approached another figure standing in the middle of the street, also soaked by the droplets from the heavens.

"Dorothy," the first one panted. "Have you seen Sully this morning?" She brushed her long, reddish-brown hair out of her worried eyes. "I've been looking all over for him."

The second woman, Dorothy, rested an arm on her converser's horse. "No, Michaela, I haven't." She noticed the fear in Michaela's brown irises and knew something was amiss. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Dorothy. Something terrible happened last night." She went on to explain the argument between Sully and Daniel, and the former's abrupt departure. As she told her friend some of Sully's thoughts about his best friend, she felt her heart sink. What if he never did come back?

"Michaela," Dorothy said firmly, "Sully loves you. I've never seen a man more devoted to his wife."

But the words passed right by the woman in front of her. The couple had never had a fight this bad before, and all she could think of was abandonment—her husband had left her; he was gone forever. The one whom she'd loved so dearly… And all because of an innocent mistake. Surely Daniel didn't…?

The sound of a train whistle interrupted her thoughts. With Sully and Daniel's names echoing in her brain, Michaela abruptly ended her conversation with Dorothy and tore off for the train station.

There was only one man there; the one with enough humility to sit out in the rain while everyone else waited inside nearby buildings. He ran a hand through his mop of hair and examined the hat in his hands with a sad expression.

What had he been thinking, having affections for his best friend's wife? It was foolish and childish, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. She was perfect, and it just wasn't fair. All the girls had preferred Sully when they were younger—couldn't Daniel have this one? Just this once?

Michaela spotted him sitting on a bench next to the approaching train, and froze before she felt her heartbeat pick up again. It always did that whenever she saw him, and she was never really sure why. If she didn't know better, she would've called it a crush, but the mere thought of that was completely impossible.

Without a second thought, the woman headed over to Daniel and dismounted her horse. He stood up politely to greet her.

"Those britches look very uncomfortable," she remarked, eyeing the clear wrinkles of overnight use.

"I slept at the Gold Nugget," he explained. He looked down on her with such concern and compassion that she had to bring up Sully before she lost complete focus.

"You didn't happen to see Sully there, did you?" Michaela bit her lip.

Daniel's brows deepened slightly. "'D he leave home?"

A slight nod from the doctor confirmed his suspicions, and the two awkwardly looked away.

Daniel's face remained stoic, but inside he was boiling with rage. How dare Sully leave his wife in such stressful times! Didn't he have any sense at all?

He turned back to her. "Michaela, I'm so sorry for all of this. The last thing I wanted was to make trouble between you and Sully."

She felt herself becoming desperate. "Let's go look for him. Tell him what nonsense he's been thinking, and how absurd all this is!"

He looked at her and felt his heart start to break. He couldn't keep it from her, not anymore. "I can't do that, Michaela."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"'Cause it ain't nonsense." His voice broke as he saw her eyes widen in realization. "What Sully's thinking is true."

A million emotions hit her all at once. Sully slipped her mind for a second as she felt her heart swell with… happiness?

"No." Maybe if she ignored the feelings, they'd go away.

He knew it was killing her, but he continued anyway. "You are the finest woman I have ever met."

"No!" The compliments were starting to wear down on her.

"Sully's the best friend I've ever had," Daniel explained. "That's why I have to go."

"You can't!" she said, and felt tears well up in her eyes. With both Daniel and Sully gone, who would she turn to? Who would hold her together?

He said nothing, knowing it would be hopeless to argue with her. It was better to just go back home, and pretend like nothing ever happened. To run away from his feelings. All he had to do was turn and leave; board the train that was ever so close…

She reached up to grab hold of his arm. "Not without me!"

The words shocked both of them equally.

"What?" Daniel was incredulous.

"Please," she begged, and felt her shoulders shake with an oncoming sob. "Sully hasn't shown up all morning, and I can't help but fear that he… may be gone… for good." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "There's no one now."

"Michaela, you know I could never do that!" he argued. What was wrong with her? "You have a family to consider here!" The train whistled again threateningly as the last passengers started to board. "Besides, the act would be crazy! It's not as if you feel the same way about me that I do you."

She took a step closer to him, and felt the butterflies in her stomach flutter around faster than they ever had before. There was only one way to confirm if her speculated "crush" was true.

Michaela reached up to take Daniel's face in her hands, and pulled his lips down to meet hers.

* * *

As the two boarded their train, they weren't quite sure of anything—where they'd go, how they'd live—but all they knew was that they were together, which was the best thing for now.

Unfortunately, neither of them noticed the man who had now approached the train station. He was clad in Cheyenne-style clothing, and his hair was grown long like the Indians'—but he was not one of them.

Byron Sully watched as the train, and his life, slowly disappeared from view.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

* * *

"Gone? But… that doesn't make any sense." Colleen frowned down at the dinner in front of her, then looked up to meet her adoptive father's gaze. She had come home on the train later that day, and Sully had decided to hold a family dinner (Matthew had joined them) and announce the… news.

"'Course it don't," Matthew said. "None of this adds up." He really did know that it made perfect sense—everything did—but was trying to keep his younger siblings clueless for their own sake.

"All I know," Brian announced, "is that I _hate_ Daniel! Why, if I was twice the size I am now—"

"You ain't," his brother put in.

"—I'd show that fella just what I think of him!"

"Brian." Sully threw him a stern look.

"That's no way to be thinkin'," Matthew said.

"I don't care!" The young boy scowled. "I hate 'im!" With that, he stood up and stomped away to his room.

The three adults shared awkward eye contact before simultaneously staring down at their food.

"Sorry," Sully spoke up. "I ain't the best cook."

Colleen abruptly pushed out her chair from the table. "I'll go get Brian."

"No," Sully objected. "Just give him some time. It'll be awhile before he understands."

Matthew breathed a deep sigh and ran his hands through his hair. He sat quietly for a moment before turning to look at his father. "Are you sure it was her?"

The latter nodded solemnly.

"I don't get it!" Colleen blurted. "It doesn't seem like something she would do."

"I wish I could explain it." Sully looked at her sadly. "But I'm just as confused as you."

"I thought she loved us." Colleen's dark eyes filled with tears.

"'Course she does," Matthew said.

His sister bit her lip. "Then why?" She stood up and made way for the door, sliding a coat around her.

"Where you goin'?" Sully asked.

"The hotel." Before either of the men could argue, Colleen went outside, mounted her horse, and rode away.

* * *

Andrew Cook paced back and forth in front of his clinic's roaring fireplace, deeply immersed in thought. Beside him sat Colleen, her gaze occasionally shifting from the floor to look up at him in concern. He hadn't said anything for several minutes, which worried her greatly.

"Andrew."

He turned to her and cleared his throat. "What happens now?"

"I don't know." Colleen tried to swallow the lump in her larynx. "Sully only has enough money for me to finish this year's schooling. After that…" She couldn't finish.

He nodded his understanding. "You could always work at the clinic in town."

She shook her head. "It wouldn't feel right. Besides, I don't have the proper doctoral degree."

"The people in town know you," he said. "They trust you."

"Yes, but with Colorado Springs growing so fast, I won't be able to count on that for long."

Andrew chewed on the inside of his lip thoughtfully. He knew what to do; the answer was quite simple and obvious, but he wasn't entirely sure if she would agree to it. After all, she was going through a lot right now. A relationship to add to her burdens didn't seem like such a good option.

Still, it pained him to see her there, staring sadly at the flames in front of them, and he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and soothe her.

_ Shh, shh. It'll be all right. I'll take care of you now—_

Andrew shook his head to clear away the daydreams. "Are there any suitable jobs in… Boston?" Massachusetts had never seemed farther away than when Colleen left for college, and the thought of her staying there permanently shook him up badly.

"I don't know. I'll think of something."

He took a deep breath. This was it. "Well, if you can't find anything there, you're, um… more than welcome to stay here. I'll convince Preston to let you have a room for free."

"Thanks, but, that won't be necessary." Colleen struggled to keep her composure and barely managed to succeed. "If worse comes to worst, I'll stay at the homestead with Sully. He'll need all the help he can get."

Andrew nodded, feeling like an idiot. Katie. Of course. How foolish he'd been, thinking that Colleen would leave behind her baby sister—and the comforts of home—to stay there at the hotel, much less with _him_. They _were_ only friends, after all.

"I… I'd better be going." She stood up, gathered her dress, and made every effort not to meet Andrew's piercing gaze.

"Right." He glanced at the clock on the mantle. "Would you like me to… er… drive you home?"

"I'll be fine."

_ It's almost midnight,_ he wanted to argue, but bit his tongue and held the door open for her instead.

She turned to look at him before leaving. "Goodbye, Andrew."

"Goodbye, Colleen."

He wondered if he'd ever see her again.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

* * *

When Colleen got home, Sully was sitting in his favorite chair in front of the living room fireplace, although it wasn't lit. She observed him as he cradled Katie in his arms, and felt her heart sink in a strange way.

"Did you feed her?" she asked, walking over to the two.

Sully nodded. "Right after you left." He shifted around, moved Katie to his other elbow, and decided to change the topic. "When are you gonna go back to school?"

"I'll probably take tomorrow's morning train, so I'd better get to bed." Colleen leaned down to kiss first her father's cheek, and then her sister's. "'Night."

Sully sat there for awhile, rocking his daughter back and forth. What would he tell her about her ma when she grew older?

"She was a great woman," he managed to whisper. Katie looked up at him curiously with large brown eyes, and reached up to grab a strand or two of his long hair.

"Mama," she cooed.

"Yes, that's right." Sully reached down and lifted her to his shoulder. "I dunno what it'll be like without 'er."

"Mama," Katie continued to say, until both she and Sully fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: All right. Sorry for the really, REALLY short chapter, but I thought I'd wrap it up because the next chapter takes place a bit later in time. So now you get the basic idea of what's happening.**

**Sorry for not updating for quite awhile. I was on vacation, and during that time, thought a lot about this story. Here are a few things you should know:**

**This is mostly going to center around Colleen/Andrew (since they're my favorite couple), a few of my OCs (whose names and relations to the other characters remain unknown for now), Brian, and Katie. Although that could all change, depending on how things turn out.**

**I probably won't put in much Michaela/Daniel, if any at all. Their whereabouts will be found out in either Part Two or Part Three.**

**Oh, and as for Dorothy and Cloud Dancing - you'll see.**

**ALSO, Chapter Four is almost done, so there'll be an update within the next day or two.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm back (short break, haha). After thinking about this for a few days, I got some major inspiration. This is my longest chapter so far (only 1.5K words-sad, I know xP), so enjoy.**

* * *

_Chapter Four_

_Eight Months Later_

* * *

The butt of the rifle had exactly one hole, and a protruding bayonet to accompany it. Its barrel was made of the finest beech wood and showed clear marks from years of wear and tear. The soldier on the other end of it reloaded it with a threatening _click_ and prepared to fire it in all of its thirty-seven-inch glory.

The red-haired woman at whom it was currently pointing closed her eyes and reached for the hand beside her. Her palm was greeted with a familiar, friendly squeeze, and she drew a deep breath.

They had come so far. Months had been spent running, for every waking hour was devoted to reaching New York, the only place where they could be safe. Where the book could be printed and the world would finally know the truth.

They had been through thick and thin—dodging various armies of ever-present soldiers; seeking refuge with the tribes scattered throughout the Plains; swimming through moss-covered waters by the light of the moon in order to shake the hounds off their trail.

They had gone through so much, only to end there on the state border—merely miles away from the destination that they had worked so hard for.

"Are you going to shoot?"

It was the man that spoke. His long black hair hung over his shoulders, and it was obvious that it hadn't been tended to in months. His dark eyes were closed also, and he kept his caramel-colored fingers entwined with the woman's.

"Mrs. Dorothy Jennings and Mr. Cloud Dancin'," the soldier told them, as he worked a leaf of tobacco between his teeth. "Wanted in forty-one states, dead or alive, for treason, theft, and murder."

The two runaways opened their eyes temporarily to exchange various looks, before turning their attention back to the soldier.

"Any last words?" he questioned with a snicker.

The woman began to tremble, and the man let go of her hand to reach over and embrace her.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "For everything."

"Don't be," she replied, wrapping her shaking arms around him. "_Ne mohotatse_."

His tears mingled with her hair. "I love you too."

The soldier clicked off the safety on his rifle, and fired two perfect shots.

* * *

Horace Bing leaned against the desk in his office and sighed. The telegrams that had come in that afternoon were typical—none from Myra, of course. It had been almost three years now, and he still longed for Samantha's and her homecoming, even though he knew it would be impossible.

_What I would give to see their bright, shinin' faces again_…

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sight of a familiar young man striding by—one that usually wasn't on this side of town. He eyed the man's coat and hat, noticing that he wore a dark color of each, even though it was the hottest time of the summer.

Andrew Cook hadn't been around town much in the past several months, preferring to stay in solitude inside his clinic at Preston's hotel. Visits to the town, like this one, were quite rare, and Horace decided to take advantage of it.

"'Afternoon, Doctor," he called.

Andrew turned and nodded respectfully. "Good afternoon, Horace."

Horace shuffled through the papers in front of him. "Package just came in for you." As the young man walked over and leaned against the telegraph counter, Horace could detect a flicker of hope in his usually-dull green eyes. They widened as he was handed a thick bundle of papers held together by a mountain of string.

Andrew didn't hesitate to rip open the binding and anxiously read the first page of the huge pile in front of him.

_The Sacred Will and Testimony of Edward H. Cook._

Horace watched as the young doctor's irises once again lost their optimistic gleam. "Somethin' wrong?"

Andrew opened his mouth to answer, but was just as soon cut off as the sound of a woman's cries entered his ears. He and Horace turned to see Grace sprinting towards them and yelling something that neither of the men could understand.

"It's Robert E.!" she panted as she neared them. "He's hurt; you've gotta come quick!"

Andrew followed her as they both ran over to the blacksmith's. He was quickly greeted with the sight of Robert E. laying unconscious with a smelting iron slightly nestled into his stomach.

"My God," was all the doctor could say at first, but gained his bearings. "Grab the nearest wagon; I'll take him to my clinic!" He gazed over at Grace as she set off for the busiest part of town—first passing Michaela's old clinic, then Loren's shop, and finally Hank's saloon.

The sight of the first building was enough to make his heart sink. If the woman were still here, they could've taken Robert E. right across the street. But now, her clinic wasn't even a clinic anymore—the sign above it had been torn down; the insides had been ransacked; and the windows, having been smashed, were boarded up. Inside, everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the torn curtains showed clear signs of neglect. The only evidence of previous inhabitance was the doctor's old desk, still sitting in the center of the downstairs room, with all of her patients' records—and her journal—still kept inside, in the neatest and most perfect order.

"Andrew!" a new voice called as a wagon and horses entered his view. In the driver's seat sat Matthew Cooper, the town sheriff. Behind him, in the bed of the wagon, blankets had been laid down for Robert E. to rest upon.

Matthew stopped the horses, jumped out of the wagon, and ran over to Andrew. Together, they picked up Robert E. and heaved him onto the blankets. Then they were off again, the horses careening towards the Spring Château at top speed.

Their arrival soon caused mass chaos.

"Out of the way!" Matthew bellowed to random passers-by, as he and Andrew once again picked up the heavy-built black man and began barreling towards the hotel's entrance. "Move!"

The two made their way inside and into Andrew's clinic. Robert E. was laid onto an examination table and quickly stripped of his shirt, the latter having turned fully crimson from fresh blood.

"How did he manage to do this?" Andrew muttered to himself.

"What're you gonna do?" Matthew asked him.

"I'm not sure, and there isn't much time," the doctor answered. "The best thing to do right now is remove the iron." He nodded towards the chloroform towels lying on a nearby shelf. "Hold one of those against his nose, just to be safe."

The sheriff nodded and set off to fulfill his task, while Andrew turned around to grab a surgical needle and thread, and extra gauze. He tried to ignore the trembling in his fingers as he struggled to push the thread through the eye of the needle.

Matthew lightly pressed the chloroform against Robert E.'s nose, before turning and waiting for Andrew to finish. The latter was soon done, and looked nervously at the young sheriff. Pulling out the iron wouldn't be a fun job, and there was no other way to do it than to yank.

"I… I'll need your help," Andrew said, and took a deep breath as they both laid their hands on the handle of the iron. "Ready?"

Matthew nodded, and the two used all their strength to pull out the smelting iron. Blood soon bubbled up and seeped onto Robert E.'s abdomen from the new gash. Matthew then pressed his head against the injured man's heart to make sure he was still alive.

There was no heartbeat.

"He's…," Matthew started to say, but couldn't finish.

"No!" Andrew said, beginning to panic. He pressed gauze against the wound and applied pressure in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood. The man next to him rested a hand on his arm, but he shook it off and started to madly sew up Robert E.'s stomach. The stitches ended up being uneven and criss-crossed every which way, so he tore them out and prepared to start over.

"Andrew."

"He's not dead! I can still save him…" The doctor quickly worked the needle between both sides of the gash and pulled the broken skin together.

"Andrew!" Matthew grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly. "He's dead!" He ripped the needle and thread out of the doctor's hands and threw them across the room, before making his departure.

Andrew stood there, staring at the man on the table in front of him. First the death of his father, and now this. It was too much for him to handle.

_This shouldn't have happened._

"God damn it!" he hissed, slamming his fist against the wooden tray next to him, shortly before breaking down in tears.

* * *

**Oh, and sorry for killing off everyone. It's so fun though. :P**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, I recently received a review that called this story, among other things, "disgusting" and "not a real fanfiction". And, I will admit, I got a bit angrier than I should have. But this person clearly does not understand the meaning of "Alternate Universe" and all I have to say is, Haters gon' hate.**

* * *

_Chapter Five_

* * *

Byron Sully lay down in the soft meadow grass and stared up at the blue sky above him. The smell of fresh violets and daisies flooded his nostrils, and his eyes focused on a lone hawk circling over a tree around fifty feet away.

His heart ached for his dear Brother—the one who'd taken him in with the other Cheyenne; who'd taught him how to hunt and respect the wildlife; who'd saved him from death countless numbers of times, among other things.

He'd felt Cloud Dancing's death immediately—it was as if something inside of him instantly snapped and all of his emotions just fell into a jumbled heap onto his heart. He also knew that Dorothy had been with the Native American; the two obviously hadn't made it to New York. But they had still been together, and that was what mattered.

The middle-aged man stood up, brushed himself off, and set off for the long walk to the schoolhouse. His son had been coming home late recently, and although the young boy denied it, they both knew that there was something he was hiding.

* * *

"All right, class," Teresa Slicker announced, setting her piece of chalk on the edge of the blackboard. "That concludes our session today."

Brian Cooper breathed a not-so-subtle sigh of relief and stood up from where he had been slouching over in his small wooden chair. He shuffled into the line of children exiting the door and prayed that his teacher wouldn't see him.

Unfortunately, the young Latino wasn't fooled so easily. "Except for you, Mr. Cooper."

A few boys at the front of the line turned and snickered at Brian as he reluctantly stepped out of the line and made his way back to Sra. Slicker's desk. He tossed them a dirty look before turning to face his teacher.

She waited until the last student was gone and the door had been shut before she started to speak. "Your work has been digressing, Brian." After looking at him and receiving no response, she continued. "Your essays this past schoolyear have taken quite a toll on your overall class grade."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Teresa?" the young boy asked, suddenly at full attention.

"Well…" She flipped through a folder of his papers, frowning at the frequent correction markings. "To be frank, Brian, I do not think you will pass the eighth grade."

Brian's heart sank. He'd been able to hide his previous failings from Sully, but not being able to pass was something he definitely couldn't keep hidden.

The Señora noticed his reaction. "I am sure your father would want you to go to ninth grade, yes?"

"Yes," he murmured, hanging his head in shame. Then he looked up at her, and his sad blue eyes met her stern brown ones. "Is there anythin' I can do? You know, extra work or somethin'?"

"That is why I wanted to speak with you," she said. "Normally, there would not be any exceptions. But I believe there is something that is distracting you and keeping you from achieving your best." She noticed the effect her last sentence had on him, and her voice softened. "Is it because of your mother?"

Brian made no attempt to answer her, or acknowledge her question in any way.

Sra. Slicker made a sympathetic humming noise. "If you wish to raise your grade, I can assign you a special essay that you must complete by next Friday."

The young boy noticeably perked up. "What's it about?"

"That is for you to decide." The teacher smiled, for she knew that his creativity level greatly surpassed his peers'. "It can be about anything, but it must be at least six pages." She handed him the stack of papers and a new pencil.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Teresa!" Brian exclaimed, and smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. He ran out the doors of the schoolhouse, eager to get home as fast as he could and think of a topic.

However, he didn't get far. The next thing he knew, three boys from the tenth grade had formed a line in front of him. Brian recognized them from the line of children who had been anxious to leave the school earlier.

"Somebody failin' the _eighth grade?_" one teased. He had curly red hair and mischievous green eyes.

"He shore is," another cackled, shaking his long brown hair away from his dirt-caked face. "Don't think his _ma _would be too proud, eh?"

"'S a shame that she don't even pay attention to him no more," the blond one spoke up. "But that ain't a surprise, considerin' we all know why."

"Don't you dare say another word," Brian growled. He struggled to keep his fists unclenched at his sides.

The second boy burst into a coughing fit, and as if on cue, so did the first. Somewhere in-between their loud coughs, the word "Whore" was distinctly heard.

Brian felt his fingers bunch up as his anger spiraled out of control. His blank essay papers were soon dropped in a pile next to him as he lunged for the brunette. The two began rolling across the courtyard grass, with Brian punching and clawing at anything he could see, and the other boy returning the favor.

Soon, Brian found himself being pulled away, but continued to uselessly pound his fists against whoever was in front of him, ignoring the all-too-familiar white shirt and Cheyenne beads.

"Brian!" Sully shouted. "Stop!"

The boy barely cast a glance at his father before turning to the tenth-grade boys with hatred as they ran away. "She ain't a whore!" he screamed, still trying to wrench himself from Sully's strong grip. "And the next time I see you, you're good as _dead!_"

"Brian!" Sully repeated, shaking him.

As if knocked back into his senses, the youngster turned to look up at the man holding him. Their eyes met for a brief second, but the look of pain and disbelief in Sully's was enough to scare Brian into looking away.

Without saying a word, the former let go of his son, gathered up the now-crumpled sheets of paper, and set off for the homestead. Brian struggled to catch up, occasionally tripping over a log or pausing to wipe the steady flow of blood from his nose.

They were greeted with a quiet homestead. Matthew, who had moved in with them after Michaela left, was sitting at the dining room table. He set Katie on his lap, bounced her up and down, and eyed the entering pair, noticing the awkward silence and tension.

"Pa…," Brian finally began to say a few minutes later, his voice cracking.

Sully didn't even look at him. "Room."

Brian sniffled. "I'm sorry." He looked at his father wistfully, but after receiving no response, grabbed his essay papers and ran upstairs to his bedroom.

Sully slid onto his seat at the dining room table with a sigh, and rested his face in his hands. He sat there for several moments, before lifting his eyes up to gaze at his eldest child. "Cloud Dancin' and Dorothy are dead."

Matthew reached over to lay his free hand on the man's shoulder, and Katie let out a small whimper. "They did the best they could."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: A massive thank you to everyone who's begun to review/follow/favorite this story! You guys are awesome. :) Hope you enjoy this one, even though it's a bit of a shortie.**

* * *

_Chapter Six_

_One Week Later_

* * *

Andrew Cook walked around the room and gave it another once-over to make sure he wasn't missing anything. The medicine bottles were left on the shelves, since they technically belonged to Preston, and the extra bed sheets were still in the linen closet. Still feeling as though he was forgetting something, the young doctor glanced around once more, and spied his diploma hanging up on the adjacent wall.

He dusted off the glass casing with a smile, and slid it between the clothes in his suitcase. He had just closed the top and clipped on the locks when there was a knock at the door.

"Grace," Andrew said, a bit surprised at the woman's unexpected visit. He held open the door for her, and she sat down next to the suitcase on his bed. "What can I help you with?"

"I…" She swallowed. "I'd like to confirm a pregnancy."

Andrew was taken aback. It was a known fact that Grace was infertile, and surely she was old enough to have gone through menopause? But he didn't want to disappoint her, knowing that she must've already been having a rough time, so he reopened his suitcase and pulled out the tools needed.

* * *

Byron Sully pressed his back against the wall of the barn and examined the knife that he held in his trembling fingers.

It was the kitchen knife that Michaela had used so many times before; whether it was to slice and dice a few vegetables to mix with the dinner, to cut the few fat pieces off a chicken breast before it was cooked, or to slice up one of her pumpkin pies left over from Thanksgiving.

He ran his fingers over the wooden handle, and traced the scratches and marks from years of wear and tear—the years that they'd spent together. Memories flooded his mind and he closed his eyes, desperately trying to get them out.

It was hopeless. The months he'd spent without Michaela had been horrible, and as much as he wanted to move on, he couldn't. Not when both his best friends were either dead or distant. Raising Brian and Katie was slowly becoming a burden instead of being a pleasurable part of life.

His heart ached, and he fondled the knife once more. It had taken him ages to gather the courage, but now he was really, truly going to do it. It would be better this way, wouldn't it?

He sucked in a deep breath and held it up in the air, realizing that the last memory he would have was the sun beating down in-between the cracks of the barn and bouncing off the shimmering, polished blade. He paused a moment to take it all in, before driving the knife straight towards his chest.

"Sully!" a voice yelled, and the door to the barn flew open. There stood Brian, still in his nice school clothes and his cap slung over his eyes. He smiled widely and held up a paper in one hand, whilst patting Katie's back with the other as she stood beside him.

The two children both ran towards their father—Katie's lope being more of a waddle—and the latter found the knife forgotten as he held out his arms to embrace them.

"I did it!" Brian grinned from ear-to-ear. He waved the paper in front of Sully's face. "Mrs. Teresa gave my essay an A+! One hundred percent!"

Sully smiled. "That's great, Brian."

"Papa," Katie said, sitting down in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his face. "Papa!"

The man held her close and then reached out his arms to invite Brian as well. Normally the boy would've refused, but today was different. He plopped himself down in his father's lap as well and found himself being drawn in more tightly and protectively than ever before.

Sully breathed in the scent of Katie's hair, the ink from Brian's paper, and the smell radiating from the piles of hay around them—and felt his heart swell with love. It was then that he realized there was indeed something worth living for.

* * *

Grace walked home that evening to the sight of Anthony sitting at one end of their kitchen table. In front of him lay piles of freshly-steamed vegetables, roasted chicken breast, and a blueberry pie or two.

"Welcome back, Ma," the young boy said, smiling at her warmly. "I thought I'd give you a nice surprise while you were away."

Grace's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," she said, walking over to wrap her arms around her son. "Thank you so much." She rested her chin on the top of his head. "I have a surprise for you too."

"Really?" Anthony's face lit up. "What is it?"

"You're going to be a big brother," she choked out.

At first the two of them laughed, but for reasons unknown to them, they both began to cry.

Finally, Anthony was able to get out, "I'm sure Pa would be real happy." He squeezed his mother's hand, and she nodded.

The two sat down, said grace, and enjoyed the wonderful dinner he'd prepared.

* * *

**ALSO, I'm gonna warn you guys-from here on out, the main focus will be Colleen/Andrew... until Part Three.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey everyone. Sorry for the delayed update... I received a bit of feedback that kind of discouraged me from posting for awhile. But hey, I'm over and past it, so it's all good. :)**

**Welcome to Part Two! Not sure how long it'll be, concerning chapters... But I speculate it'll be the size of Part One, or maybe a bit longer. I spent my almost-two-month break from this thinking about its storyline a bit more, and now I've planned everything out (thus, the new separation of parts). So I hope I can continue to update this more frequently.**

**Second-longest chapter, haha. Enjoy!**

* * *

PART TWO

_Chapter Seven_

_A Few Days Later_

* * *

Andrew Cook was awakened by the sound of the train wheels screeching to a stop at the station. He got up from his seat, smoothed down his overcoat, and soon found himself filing into the line of people that was leaving the train. Within moments, he'd walked down the steps on the back of the train car and was on the ground of the station.

Smiling to himself, Andrew observed the hustle-and-bustle of the surroundings that greeted him. It was a relief to see that Boston hadn't changed—everything and everyone was always rushing here and there in a mad haste to beat the clock that was ever-ticking. The murmurs of people exchanging gossip and hurried words, and the yells and calls of the numerous conductors flooded his ears. He closed his eyes and breathed in the thick scent of pollution, then reopened them. He was home.

_Now, to find my way out,_ he thought.

The station was large and magnificently built, its walls made of the finest and sleekest metals to provide a nice indoor shelter that protected its inhabitants from any state of weather. Kiosks selling train tickets lined the walls, and to his right were the enormous tunnels that held the railway cars.

Peering a bit past them, Andrew's gaze fell over a doorway where the late-afternoon light was streaming in. He was about to smile in satisfaction once more, when he realized the real reason for his visit to the city. Immediately somber, the young doctor set off for the exit.

* * *

_EDWARD COOK, M.D._

The words were very familiar, but Andrew hadn't realized how much he'd missed seeing them until he traced his fingertips over their inscription on the sign in front of him. Taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts, he raised up his wrist to rap on the door of his father's old clinic.

A man with dark blond hair and brown eyes opened the door. "Hello, little brother," he said, a slight smirk crossing his face. "I had a feeling sending you that letter would've gotten some sense into your head. Nice to see you're finally back."

"Edward," Andrew answered stiffly, shifting uncomfortably at the sight of his father's namesake. He raised his gaze to fully view his older brother, biting his lip at how their eyes were never at an even level. Edward would always be taller.

"You've gotten shorter, I see," the latter said. There was a beat of silence before he spoke up again. "Oh, I'm forgetting my manners… Come in, come in." He didn't bother to step aside or hold the door; instead allowing it to close with barely enough time for Andrew to grab it. Letting out a small grunt of irritation, the youngest Cook followed his brother as he was led through the large clinic and into one of the back rooms, where the boys' father's office had been.

It was still there, Andrew discovered, as he surveyed the papers thrown hastily across the desk; the still-open drawers; the shifted curtains; the medical tools thrown out of their cases. The sight was rather odd—Dr. Cook had always been extremely particular about keeping everything in its exact order.

Edward noticed Andrew's frown as the latter observed the scene. "He was trying to find the cure," he said. "Didn't know what was killing him."

Andrew walked over to the desk in the center of the abandoned room and fingered a dusty sheet of paper, squinting in an attempt to read its contents.

"Never told us he was dying," Edward continued quietly. "He was always good at hiding things, you know."

His converser nodded in remembrance of all the presents that had been under their Christmas tree each year; both of them had always wondered where their father had managed to stow away each gift. Afternoons had been spent digging through hundreds of storage chests and rifling through dusty shelves in their parents' wardrobes, each of them in mad pursuit of the location where their father smuggled their goods.

That was when the two brothers got along; before their personalities developed and interests separated them. Before… everything.

"You arranged the funeral, I assume?" Andrew asked, pushing the distant memories away.

"Yes." Edward walked over to the window and pulled the curtains closed. Dust particles flew out from the sill. "It was held the day before yesterday. You were gone, of course. Found it necessary to stay in the west. How is the little town, anyway?"

_Dead_, Andrew longed to say, but that was only in his mind. It was actually very lively, with dozens of newcomers arriving each day on the train. But to him, nothing could be the same as it was when Dr. Mike was present.

"It's… growing," he finally got out. He let go of the piece of paper in his hand, realizing he was no longer trying to read it, and it fell silently back onto the desk.

"So, more business for your own clinic?" Edward questioned, seeming for once genuinely interested in making conversation.

"Actually, I sent in a letter of resignation before I left. I decided it would be best to stay here for a little while."

"Good man." His older brother smiled, walked over, and placed a hand on his lower back. He gently guided them both out of the room. "It appears you've grown a bit more sensible in my absence."

The two walked down a long hallway and found themselves in the front room where Andrew had first been ushered in.

"You must be starved after your trip," Edward told him. "I would invite you to dine with Margaret and myself, but we already had our meal around an hour ago, and I'd hate for her to feel the need to make another."

Margaret had been the boys' housekeeper (and former nanny) since their mother died when they were little. The woman was now in her late years but still apparently in good health and spirits.

"There's a little café just down the street. Small and homely, as you'd probably be most comfortable with… Brown's, I think it's called?" Edward walked over to the front door and, this time, held it open for his younger brother.

"Thank you," Andrew said, once again tilting his head a bit upwards to meet the man's gaze. He took the suitcases that he'd set down beside the door and prepared to exit, when his brother's voice stopped him.

"Andrew?"

He tensed up slightly. "Yes?"

"He's buried in the old cemetery by Saint Mary's, right next to Mother. If you want to see him, I mean." Then the door was closed and the young doctor found himself alone.

By this time it was night, and the sky had grown even darker from the rainclouds that were beginning to open up and let down droplets that pattered against the street. The reflection of the moonlight was clearly visible through the puddles that had started to collect against the sides of the road. A thick coat of silence had settled in the normally-busy town, save for the occasional carriage that thundered past or the distant shouts of drunken men.

Andrew shivered from the cold rain droplets and wore on through the steady drizzle, determined to get to the end of the block as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, his line of sight hindered his sense of direction and perception of depth, and the next thing he knew he'd slipped and fallen into a puddle larger than the others.

Horses pulling another carriage drove past, and the wheels sprayed water across his already-wet body. Breathing heavily, Andrew struggled to regain his senses and stand back up.

A hand that seemed to come out of nowhere was suddenly in front of his face. Without a thought or care as to who it belonged to, Andrew latched on and allowed it to pull him up.

"It's all right," a soft voice said. "Everyone takes a spill now and then."

Andrew had begun to reach for his suitcases, which were lying in the road where he'd fallen, but froze as soon as the words greeted his ears. He'd heard them once before, but couldn't quite put a finger on when or where.

He looked down to meet the gaze of the person in front of him, and was face-to-face with dark, shining eyes that were all too familiar—eyes he thought he'd never see again.

* * *

**I said before that Andrew's father's name was Jacob, but I was re-watching the episode where Andrew first came to Colorado Springs, and Mrs. Quinn mentioned that his father's name was actually Edward. So I went back and changed it.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Yayyy! An update within the week! It must be a sign! ****As you may or may not have noticed, I put a note in the story summary as to when it would be updated next. I'll try to put up a chapter every few days, and if that fails, once or twice a week. Either way, I'll do my best to let you all know when the next one's coming.**

**If you think I'm slacking on writing chapters, don't be afraid to bug me about it. Usually I kind of forget this story exists (oops) until someone sends me some feedback.**

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

* * *

"Colleen?" Andrew's own eyes widened in shock.

She was equally taken aback. "Andrew?"

Within seconds he'd reached over to engulf her in a friendly embrace. As they drew apart, she looked him up-and-down with shock.

"You're soaked!"

Andrew observed the parasol she was holding over her head to keep the rain away. "Your makeshift-umbrella isn't in much of a better condition," he remarked with a chuckle.

Colleen let out a small laugh and put on arm on his shoulder. "We've got to get you inside before you catch a cold. There's a restaurant just a little ways down the street." She held her ruined parasol over the two of them and helped Andrew down the road.

Soon, the two reached the place that Edward had mentioned to Andrew. It turned out to be more of a tavern than a café, with nice little wooden tables scattered here and there and oil lamps lining the walls. Even though there were many of the latter, the lighting in the room was rather dim, but made the place seem even more comfortable.

The couple sat down at a table in the back corner and Andrew examined the seats around them. The tavern was completely deserted, except for the two of them and a waiter who was sweeping the floor under a few tables across the room.

"Will!" Colleen called to him. "Get this man a blanket!"

"Sure thing, Miss Cooper," he replied over his shoulder as he began to make his way to a door in the back, which Andrew assumed led to the kitchen. "Be there in a just a moment."

"You know him?" Andrew asked, giving Colleen a questioning look.

"I used to come here all the time after school," she explained, her face breaking into a grin. "His coffee often helped me get through late-night studying for my medical exams."

Will came out of the back room with a blanket and two cups of coffee. He draped the blanket over Andrew's shoulders and set the drinks down on the table.

"It's about time you brought along a friend," he told Colleen. "Father and I were just about convinced that you had decided to throw away that doctoral degree of yours and take up the life of a hermit."

"Goodbye, William," Colleen said, laughing and giving him a light shove. The boy let out a low chuckle and sauntered back into the kitchen.

Once again, Andrew was left in confusion. "Doctoral degree?"

Colleen took a sip of her coffee and prepared for another explanation. "Once I finished up the semester of college that Sully could pay for, I decided to go live with my grandmother. She offered to supply the money for the rest of my schooling, and I ended up graduating early."

Speechless, Andrew struggled to find the right words. "Congratulations," he finally got out. "Did you tell her—?"

"No." She shook her head. "I could never."

He nodded in understanding, and a long silence passed between them as they each sipped their coffee. Andrew let out the occasional shiver before pulling the blanket more tightly around himself.

"What brings you to Boston?" Colleen asked, at length. She raised her eyes from her cup of coffee to look at him curiously.

Andrew wrapped his still-cold fingers around the hot mug in front of him. "My father recently passed away, and I figured a visit to my hometown was long overdue."

"Oh, Andrew. I'm sorry." Colleen gazed at him sadly before switching topics. "How were things in Colorado Springs before you left?"

"Honestly…" He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I don't know how your mother managed to do it, but her presence held the whole town together. Now everything's just breaking at the seams."

She nodded solemnly. "I know what you mean."

He heaved a sigh. "How is your grandmother doing?"

Something flickered in Colleen's sienna eyes that Andrew couldn't quite decipher. She bit her bottom lip and glanced back up at him. "Perhaps you'd like to come and see for yourself."

* * *

Andrew had only been inside the Quinn mansion a small number of times, and that was back when he was a little boy. He still remembered the place, for it (like Boston) hadn't changed—it was still vastly spacious, elegant, and museum-like, just as his father's had been. He followed Colleen up one of the winding staircases and into a large bedroom.

He took a quick look around to see that no lamps or candles in the room were lit. In the center was a king-sized bed with a ghostly canopy, and he could barely make out the figure of Mrs. Quinn lying there, with her neck bent in a strange position and sweat lining her brow. At first he thought she was sleeping, but her eyes followed the two young people with interest as they entered the premises.

"M… Michaela?" the old woman croaked. "Is… is that you?"

Andrew looked over to see Colleen flinch slightly from the mention of her adoptive mother's name.

"No, Grandma; it's me," she said. "Colleen. Remember?"

"Col… Colleen," Mrs. Quinn panted, trying to lift her arms from underneath the covers. She moaned at the effort it took and gave up. "You're finally… here."

"Yes." Andrew could tell that Colleen was trying carefully not to say anything that would upset or provoke her grandmother. "I brought Andrew with me."

"A-Andrew?"

"Andrew Cook," he spoke up.

"Cook… Andrew… Edward…" She made a strange strangling sound, mixed with a low moan, and gasped out, "My head…" shortly before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Colleen walked over to the nightstand beside Mrs. Quinn's bed. She dipped a rag in a bowl of cold water that was there, wrung out the rag, and then laid it across the sick woman's forehead.

"Meningitis," she said softly, looking across the room at Andrew. "I came home one day after school to find her like this."

Andrew gave a slight nod, and Colleen put the rag back in the bowl of water. The two quietly exited the room and went out into the hallway.

"Nearly ninety percent of these cases are… fatal," Andrew mused, more to himself than to the other doctor, as he paced back and forth out of habit. "But she's strong enough to recover, isn't she?" He looked up at Colleen, whose back was to him as she leaned over the staircase railing and stared downwards.

"No, no… She's dying, Andrew!" She turned around to stare at him with eyes that were swimming with fresh tears. "She's dying and her own daughter doesn't even care!"

He'd never seen her get this angry before, and felt a seed of fear slowly growing within him as he realized this ordeal was no longer about Colleen's grandmother.

"I sent her seventeen letters! _Seventeen!_" A drop of saltwater overflowed from the young woman's right eye and raced down her cheek as she clenched both of her fists. "She's so stupid, selfish, ignorant, and inconsiderate! I HATE HER!" Colleen turned to the wall and slammed her knuckles against it as hard as she could, the tears now spilling out of her eyes faster than ever before. As Andrew slowly approached her, she let out a small cry and shrank from his touch, but within seconds had allowed him to press her against his chest.

He stood there awhile, cradling her small figure against his heart and combing back her hair with his fingers, not knowing any better way to soothe her.

* * *

**To clear up any confusion: Colleen sent the letters to the house Daniel lived in before he came to Colorado Springs.**

**She was a bit out of character in this chapter, but hey, everyone needs a complete mental breakdown every now and again.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: My update timing is bad, and I should feel bad.  
**

**Je suis désolé, mis amigos.**

* * *

_Chapter Nine_

* * *

"We are all gathered here today to grieve and remember someone very dear to our hearts—Elizabeth Quinn."

Colleen raised her gaze to watch the reverend perform his eulogy and brought a handkerchief against the corner of her left eye. She exchanged a solemn look with Andrew before laying her head against his shoulder.

"Elizabeth was a caring daughter, mother, wife, and grandmother, who was and will be looked upon in remembrance of her greatly affectionate character. Let us commend her to the mercy of God as we bow our heads in prayer."

Through her peripheral vision, Colleen caught sight of a woman clad in black attire approaching the ceremony. Figuring she was just a late guest attending to pay her respects, the girl closed her eyes and clasped her hands together.

The woman lowered her feathered hat and watched with interest as the small crowd of people joined the pastor in prayer. She slipped into a seat in the back of the group and pulled her overcoat more tightly around herself, keeping her head down but scanning the people surrounding her.

"…In our sorrow, make us strong to commit ourselves and those we love to Your unfailing care. In our perplexity, help us to trust what we cannot understand."

The woman saw at least seven figures in the front row of the gathering—four sisters, a husband, and a young couple. They were all wearing the same dark clothing, but she was still able to recognize them nonetheless.

"And in our loneliness may we remember Elizabeth in love, trusting her to Your keeping, until the eternal morning breaks."

An older girl, perhaps in her early twenties, stood up to place something on the coffin, and the observer felt her heart skip a beat. Yes, she would know Colleen anywhere.

"We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth…"

The crowd began to stand up as a few well-built men picked up the coffin and proceeded to lay it in a hole that was dug beside another gravestone.

"…Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

A few of the people who were sitting in the front row looked on as the undertaker started to pile dirt back in-between the coffin and the ground with a shovel.

"…In the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."

Tears sprung to the woman's eyes and she hastily wiped them away, staring foolishly as the grass was once again sealed up and rocks were piled atop the now-buried coffin. A young man suddenly turned around and the two exchanged eye contact, shortly before the woman panicked, whirled on her heel, and began to walk briskly away.

"Michaela?" the man murmured, dumbfounded. He felt his mouth drop open to form a slight 'O'.

Colleen laid a hand on his arm and stared at him curiously. "Andrew? What is it?"

"Wait here," he instructed, his awestruck tone quickly slipping away to a stern one. He gently set her aside as he tore off across the field after the woman.

His escapee glanced behind her to see him in hot pursuit. Her copper irises widened and she picked up her dress, breaking into a full and un-ladylike sprint. Andrew's own hurried strides increased as he began to run after her. Soon she'd reached the side of the road.

"Michaela!" the doctor shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of a carriage approaching the scene. Within half a second, a man's arms had reached out of the buggy to pull the woman inside. The last glimpse Andrew caught of her was her black hat falling off to reveal long, reddish-brown hair piled on top of her head. Then the carriage door closed and the horses galloped down the busy street in the direction of the train station.

Andrew came to a stop in front of the edge of the street and bent over to pick up the woman's hat. He let out a huff of frustration as he examined the headpiece between his trembling fingers.

"Andrew!" Colleen called as she came towards him. In a moment she was at his side and staring into his eyes in confusion. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," he panted, remembering her reaction when she'd heard her mother's name two weeks ago. "Just thought I saw… someone I knew."

"Who?" his conversant asked.

Andrew shook his head, inwardly disappointed with himself. "It doesn't matter." In a swift motion he drew his arm about her shoulders and threw the hat down in the grass behind them. "Come on; let's get back to the ceremony."

Colleen continued to look at him with concern. She couldn't help but feel as if he were hiding something from her, but tried to shake off the feeling as they found their way back to the group of mourners.

* * *

"After sending Michaela all those letters, I thought she would at least have the audacity to attend Mother's funeral," Claudette Quinn said, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She elegantly raised her knife and fork to cut off another piece of steak.

Rebecca stared down at her own dinner, which had barely been touched, before looking up to meet her sister's gaze. "Perhaps there was something urgent back in Colorado Springs that she had to tend to."

"Yes," Marjorie agreed with a nod. "You know that she's very devoted to her patients—"

"Please," Maureen cut in, taking a small sip of wine. "Nothing could be more important than her own family."

"You were just in the town, weren't you, Dr. Cook?" Claudette turned to the young man, and he froze in mid-chew. "What has she been up to?"

Andrew's face colored slightly and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, I… hadn't really been in town much."

"His clinic is on the outskirts," Colleen put in, exchanging a glance with him. "You know, in the fancy hotel that was just recently built."

"But, uh… as far as I know," he continued, swallowing and looking downwards, "She wasn't in any trouble. Of course, an epidemic could've—"

"See?" Claudette said triumphantly. A smug smile crossed her face. "Michaela just ignored the letters out of pure selfishness."

Rebecca frowned and cut a small piece off of her meat. "You can't be certain of that."

"Which is why I'm going to see her," Marjorie announced. Everyone seated at the table grew gravely silent and turned to stare at her oddly.

"Aunt Marjorie," Colleen began, "I don't think—"

"Shh, shh," she said, waving her hand to silence the young woman. "I've already bought the train tickets, so you can't talk me out of it. Besides, the girls and I were thinking of paying Colorado Springs a visit." She smiled. "From what I've witnessed during my previous stays, I think the town could use a bit of… prohibition."

"So you really did join that temperance league," Maureen said in disgust. "You're a fool to think that it will get very far, Marjorie—alcohol's here to stay." As if to emphasize her point, she raised her wine glass to her lips once more.

"If I had wished to hear your opinion, Maureen, I would have asked for it," Marjorie shot back. "I'm taking the afternoon train tomorrow, and there's nothing you can say to change my mind."

Andrew and Colleen exchanged another look and the former opened his mouth to protest, but once again the saucy woman had more things to say.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish packing." Marjorie set her handkerchief down on the table before standing up, turning on her heel, and heading upstairs.

"She becomes more and more like Michaela each passing day," Claudette remarked, breaking the silence that had ensued.

_I hope not_, Andrew couldn't help thinking. His eyes once more met Colleen's as their faces displayed subtle expressions of worry, wondering just what Marjorie Quinn would discover upon her arrival in the West.

* * *

**Ooh, a guest visit from our favorite doctor! Drama amongst the Quinn ladies! What do you think Marjorie will find in CS?**

**Dunno when I'll update next. I'm aiming for this Wednesday.**


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